


Satellite (of Love)

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Droid Love, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Other, Robosexuality, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BB-8 adores Poe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satellite (of Love)

**Author's Note:**

> For my **trope_bingo** "friends with benefits" square. And a nonnie who said some pretty inspiring things about this ship.

BB-8 can remember a time before Poe - his long-term storage is in perfect working order and backed up regularly - but he doesn't like to. Before Poe, he was a good worker, if occasionally too enthusiastic and prone to untested innovation for many of his operators and fellow droids. But he was dependable and rarely needed anything but the most routine sort of maintenance.

A droid didn't know what it was to hope, to ask, for more. That would have exceeded all logical parameters.

But when he was assigned to a rangy, broad-smiling ensign named Dameron in the New Republic Starfighter Corps, BB-8 got more. He likes to think he's given more, too. 

After all, an astromech is useless without a starship to work on and a pilot to fly that ship. Specialization creates dependency, a reciprocation that, sometimes, improves the conditions of each subject immeasurably.

Working with Poe, BB-8 has become a better droid. He's quicker now, better at anticipating problems and preparing for contingencies, far readier to communicate about the situation than try to fix it himself first.

"You've gotta tell me what you need, buddy," Poe told him after that first big miscalculation that saw them blow out the starboard reactor and drift dead in the air for nearly two days. "We're a team, okay?"

When Poe left the Republic to join the Resistance, he told BB-8 that it was up to him whether he came along. (It was not, technically, up to either of them, but they shared a deep disrespect for ideas about property.)

"It's not like here," Poe said, gesturing at the bright, gleaming hangar. "Not nearly so many resources or techs."

 _«But you're going,»_ BB-8 replied.

Poe nodded and made that face that meant he was serious. (He rarely makes that expression for very long; he prefers to laugh, or at least smile, which is probably the first thing BB-8 realized he liked best about the human.) "I am. But you don't have to just because I am. 

_«We're a team. I'm going.»_

"It's a lot rougher there," Poe warned him. BB-8 was mildly offended by that; he wasn't just some luxury service droid. He was more than capable of taking care of himself and his ship and pilot.

But Poe wasn't joking about how different it is here. (BB-8 has figured out joking, and sarcasm, since meeting Poe. Saying things that are contrary to observable conditions would strike most droids as foolishness, even evidence of grave error. But when Poe does it, BB-8 has come to understand, he is not denying those external conditions so much as emphasizing them by noting their absurdity.)

It **is** rougher out here. BB-8 performs the vast majority of his own maintenance now, which means he has equipped his body with an array of tools and parts that are far from standard. Poe says this makes him "one of a kind", but that's silly. He is simply distinctive now, differentiated from others in his line, but still very much of them.

Poe seems to have adjusted to the rougher conditions better, more quickly, than BB-8 expected. 

"Don't think I need much," he tells BB-8 when BB-8 asks about that adjustment. He's reclining on his narrow bunk in skimpy undershirt - the laundry droids here are **brutes** with bleaching and high temperatures - and the leg portion of his flight suit. BB-8 likes the flight suit best, not just because it often means they're about to have an adventure, but because it matches his own color scheme nearly perfectly. 

Poe's trousers whisper when he recrosses his legs. He has removed his boots and BB-8 detects a slight elevation in scent levels from Poe's feet.

"Just need a place to crash, a ship to fly, and you," Poe adds, then yawns so widely and long that BB-8 rolls a little closer, sorting through his tables of med data and equipment, just in case he is about to pass out. Poe shakes his head, grinning, and rests his hand on the top of BB-8's thoracic crown. "Think I'm down for the night, buddy."

He sleeps with his hand there for hours, heavy and warm. While BB-8's sensors were not designed for that much touch interface, he has optimized the ones along his crown and the top ridge of his abdominal sphere, the places that Poe seems to enjoy touching the most.

While Poe sleeps, BB-8 powers down all systems except the bio-monitors. In the morning, he reviews the data, noting the shifts in Poe's sleep, how rapidly his eyes move under the lids, how his breathing slows and deepens. About an hour before waking, Poe is usually in a dream state, mouth open, jaw working, while his circulation increases, blood flow concentrated more in his genital regions, hips and thighs twitching.

If that tension isn't relieved during sleep, which happens sometimes, Poe takes care of it first thing upon rising. He usually accomplishes release, which is marked by a rush of dopamine as well as discharge of salt-heavy fluid, during the same visit to the refresher in which he washes his body and empties his bladder. BB-8 is undecided about the efficiency of this, but it's Poe's routine and not something that he feels competent to address or intervene on. Poe says he doesn't even have to accompany him to the refresher, so usually BB-8 waits outside.

Sometimes, when work has slowed or he's not needed, BB-8 reviews the visualizations of this data, particularly the heat maps of circulatory patterns. He knows all of Poe's anatomical data, of course, but these particularly fascinate him. It would be quite the project to determine which conditions best favour both genital engorgement **and** the torrential rush of euphoric neurotransmitters that makes Poe gasp and shake all over.

BB-8 also reviews the emotional data he gathers on Poe. Clearly, a successful mission results in elevated mood, which means more jokes, louder voice, and the consumption of intoxicants. Less successful missions, as well as interminable meetings with the admiralty, lead to depressed levels of serotonin, irritability, and a notable decrease in the likelihood of Poe cracking jokes. These periods, however, never last long. BB-8 can often hasten their end by relaying some jokes he has scoured from the holonet or simply by keeping Poe company, listening and responding.

"Lonely out here," he heard Poe observe to General Organa once. He probably should not have been listening; Poe's visits to the general's quarters are need-to-know only. Not quite top secret, but to be kept as discreet as possible.

He wants to mitigate the loneliness for Poe as much as possible. 

When Poe loses another pilot, however, is when BB-8 feels most helpless. Poe doesn't want to hear jokes then, and he certainly doesn't feel like talking. BB-8 keeps close, however, just in case. In case Poe cheers up, or needs anything. Sometimes he uses his simple grasper attachment to tug a blanket over Poe's body, whether he's asleep or not. He always makes sure to stock up on the carob-flavored energy drinks that Poe prefers, then offers them when Poe most needs a lift.

Sometimes Poe surprises him, contravening every prior example of behavior and reaction. Many droids, even BB-8 once upon a time, would find this sort of disruption distressing, even confusing. But BB-8 considers such surprises to be yet another benefit of working with Poe.

So when three-quarters of Yellow Squadron fails to make it back from a joint bombing run with Black Squadron on a First Order supply depot, BB-8 reads all the data and prepares for a very upset, highly shaken Poe.

And he **is** , except he exhibits none of the characteristic lassitude and delayed reaction time. Instead, all his levels are elevated, nearly through the roof (which roof? BB-8 would still like to know the referent of this phrase); his pupils are dilated, his breathing shallow, his body coated with sweat.

He waves off the medics, heads into a quick and sad debrief, then gestures curtly at BB-8. "Let's go," he says, and when they reach the barracks, asks BB-8 to put up a Do Not Disturb signal on his door.

Poe flops back on his bunk, stripping off flak vest, wiggling out of his flight suit, kicking one boot across the small space, then the other. He seems to want to make a mess, so BB-8 refrains from rolling to and fro to pick up the clothes.

"No," Poe replies when BB-8 inquires. "I'm not hungry. Not sleepy. Just **wired**."

BB-8 rolls right up to the side of Poe's bunk and pokes his arm. _«Where?»_

"Real funny." Poe's voice sounds flat, but then he heaves a sigh and throws himself onto his side, facing BB-8. "Sorry, buddy. Just in a weird mood."

 _«You're very excited,»_ BB-8 informs him. Poe's adrenaline levels have rarely been so elevated; his sweat scents the air, sharp and unmistakable. _«Aroused.»_

Snorting, Poe smiles at him, or maybe at the word. Both, most likely. His eyes crinkle up. "I really am, man."

It makes sense, BB-8 starts to explain. Not only are there physiological reactions to danger to be considered, but also metaphysical and psychological influences concerning one's relationship to death and duty, the loss of comrades against one's own survival.

Poe holds up his hand. "Shut up. Please."

Apologetically, BB-8 rolls half a turn back.

"No, come back." Poe's voice is rough. "I'm sorry." 

BB-8 bumps back against the bunk. _«Here.»_

Poe is still lying on his side, head pillowed on one arm. He lifts his head and reaches out with that arm to caress BB-8's crown. "Hey."

 _«Salutations,»_ BB-8 replies and Poe chuckles, then raps his knuckles lightly against BB-8.

"Need to take care of this," he says, eyes looking away even as he rolls his hips to indicate his genitals. "You want to wait outside, or...?"

BB-8 straightens his crown. _«I'll help.»_

Poe does look at him now, eyes wide, pupils still very dilated. A flush is rising on his cheeks and down the center of his chest. His other hand flexes against his side.

 _«I could project pornography,»_ BB-8 suggests. Having tabulated the wide variety of sexual partners that Poe has taken, BB-8 then cross-referenced their genders, species, and acts committed against the various holo-wank available. He is sure that he could choose something Poe would enjoy. (This is not as difficult a task it might otherwise be; Poe likes **a lot** of things and people.)

Poe smiles, but it's a tight, effortful expression. "No, I'm good. You --"

BB-8 moves a few centimeters down the bunk - Poe's palm is still touching him, but now he can open one compartment and extend the modified rivet squeezer tool he has developed. Padded with synthetic material, lubricated with the kind of moisturizer that Poe uses after the refresher, BB-8 is fairly confident that the tool can do the job.

"What the **hell**?" Poe reaches down to stroke the arm with one finger.

After bleeping proudly, BB-8 murmurs at him to be quiet, then peels open the fastener on Poe's fly. It's a little more difficult a task than he'd envisioned, because the fabric is distended by Poe's penis, which is swollen and very, very radiant with heat.

"Buddy --"

 _«Let me try,»_ BB-8 says in the most soothing tone available.

Half-laughing, almost sobbing, Poe shifts forward, pressing his hips toward BB-8. He rolls them, shimmying a little, then sigh-sobbing in relief when he gets his penis into the grip. BB-8 squeezes a little, reassuringly, then sets up a good up and down motion, one that lingers on the base of Poe's penis, then sweeps quickly up. This is the rhythm that Poe most frequently uses on himself.

"Beeb --" Poe says, then breaks off, stuffing his fist into his mouth as his hips snap faster.

BB-8 is slightly disappointed; he'd like, very much, to hear what works and what doesn't. Besides, at any time he simply enjoys the timbre of Poe's voice, the words he uses and the vibrations he causes. However, BB-8 is getting a flood of data that should tell him much the same thing upon later review.

The bunk squeaks with the sound of Poe's thrusts. BB-8 has locked his motion servos, however, so he's a firm bulwark against the forward momentum. He deploys a second arm with buffing pad against Poe's abdomen, rubbing it in counterpoint to the grasper's movement. Poe fucks the squeezer, grinding into it, catching hairs in its joints. A large amount of pre-ejaculate runs over BB-8's arm.

Poe's fingers dig into the space between BB-8's crown and abdomen, curl and hold on as he throws back his head and shouts something that, even after several analytic runs, BB-8 will not be able to identify as any known galactic language.

His body stills for a moment, muscles in his thighs and abdomen locking. He lifts himself up slightly, then ejaculates with a shudder and groan. Most of it lands on the mattress, but some catches BB-8 on the crown while some splatters his abdomen.

Breathing heavily, Poe lies back and BB-8 withdraws the two arms, stowing away the tools. He is 98% certain that this was a successful test run.

Poe is sweaty all over again, but his adrenal levels are already dropping and the endorphins are filling his system. His eyes look heavy, his voice sounds sleepy, when he lifts his head and pats BB-8. "Thanks, buddy. You're amazing."

BB-8 burbles, delighted with the immediate results.

Squinting, Poe looks at him and reaches out. "Here, let me clean that off --"

 _«Not necessary,»_ BB-8 says, but doesn't have a chance to roll out of reach before Poe's sitting up and daubing the ejaculate off with the corner of his sheet.

"Got your back," he tells BB-8, and BB repeats it back to him, meaning every single possible connotation of the phrase with full sincerity.


End file.
